CHAPTER 66: TENDER

The steam had long since vanished, leaving only the ghost of Hallowbloom and rosewater clinging to the air. Ilaria sat before a large mirror, her hair already dry, her fingers playing a restless rhythm along the comb.

Melyn moved behind her with the quiet grace of flowing water, weaving gentle curls into place. Her gaze often caught the princess’ reflection, like a watcher noticing the tide turn.

"You’ve gone quiet again," Melyn cooed. "Is it worry, or are you thinking of him again?"

Ilaria looked up, the question pulling her back from a distant shore. "Neither," she murmured, the denial a shallow thing.

Melyn smiled faintly, seeing the faint blush still warming the tips of the princess’ ears. "The second one, then."

Ilaria dropped her gaze, her cheeks heating. She could still hear the echo of his voice. That low, quiet authority that left her too aware of his near absence. The memory lingered in her head like a fragile bird fluttering against the cage of her ribs.

When he had left, she could not deny that the air had seemed to lose its colour even though she was in his chamber.

Her grip tightened on the comb, her eyes tracking the dust motes dancing in the gilded light. A silent, childish disappointment settled on her lips. Because she had yearned to see him there waiting after she left the bath.

It was ridiculous, really. A wife should not miss her husband after a mere hour, yet here she was.

"...He must be busy," she sighed, the words a shield against the silence. "It’s always something important with him."

Melyn arched a brow. "And important things never seem to happen in your corner of the castle, do they?"

Ilaria jolted like she was genuinely offended, whining. "That’s cruel, Melyn!"

"I only speak the truth your heart is hiding. The moment he stepped out, you looked like a forgotten ember waiting for a breath of wind."

"I did not!"

"You did," Melyn countered, tying the final strand neatly. "It’s obvious you miss him already. The distance feels too wide."

Ilaria’s face flamed, and she snapped her attention away. "That’s absurd. He was barely here long enough to be missed."

"Mhm." Melyn’s tone held the patient amusement of an old friend. "Yet you already spoke of him for the third time. I wonder why that is?"

The princess opened her mouth, closed it, and finally let out a soft, defeated grumble. "You talk too much..."

"Only when you blush too easily, princess. I thought you liked it when I talk about him."

Ilaria’s eyes softened then, and a genuine smile broke through the dramatics. "That’s true..." she admitted, her voice shy. "You used to think I was unbearable, didn’t you? Always picking at his words like they held the secret to the world."

Melyn snickered. "Unbearable is a gentle word for it. You’d have me replay every moment twice just so you could feel the air shift again."

"Oh hush," Ilaria huffed, though the laughter bubbling up betrayed her. "I couldn’t help it. You weren’t in my place, you wouldn’t understand."

"No," Melyn agreed, her smile warm. "But I was the one who had to listen. I could have charted every erratic beat of your heart and write your love story by now."

Ilaria sighed, eyes distant for a brief, wistful second. "Then maybe you should. It’s a good story."

"Only if it gets a happy ending," Melyn replied, the teasing note suddenly serious.

That quieted her. Ilaria traced the hem of her sleeve, her hope suddenly feeling heavy. "It will," she said, willing the promise into existence. "It has to."

Melyn pressed her hands on Ilaria’s shoulders after she was done with her hair, saying, "You look happy, princess."

Ilaria did not even try to hide it, her lips curved beautifully. "I am," she whispered. "He’s... different now. Less of an iron shield, more of a strong shadow. Or perhaps I just finally learned how to get closer to him."

Before Melyn could reply, a soft sound of the turning of the latch broke the stillness.

They both turned.

There, Levan stood framed in the doorway, half-shadowed by the fading day as he casually made his way into the chamber.

Melyn immediately inclined her head at that, a silent acknowledgment that her role was over.

Ilaria, however, was paralyzed. Her hand flew to her hair, then fluttered uselessly at her sleeve. "Do I look alright?" she breathed, her eyes wide with sudden panic.

Melyn fought a laugh. "You look like the first day of spring. Now, breathe. Don’t let him think he’s startled a deer."

"Melyn—"

"Shh." The handmaiden grinned, stepping away with a graceful bow as she passed the prince. "Your Highness."

The door clicked shut, and the silence that rushed in was thick and anticipatory. She thought she would combust, but when she saw him approaching her, the fear that had clung to her simply melted away.

It was like watching the sun break through after a long, sleepless night; warmth spilling over every corner of her heart. Ilaria’s lips parted into a grin. Blooming bright, unrestrained, and impossibly alive. Just seeing him there felt like remembering how to breathe.

"Hi, husband~" she chirped, the word a bell-tone on her tongue. It was a playfulness meant to melt the frost of his court duties.

Levan paused, one foot still rooted on the threshold. The rigid severity that usually defined his face fractured just a little. She looked so bright standing there. The light spilling from her smile like morning breaking over the edge of a storm.

For a heartbeat, he simply stared, caught between awe and disbelief that something so soft and so alive was waiting for him here. He was aware of her presence in his chamber, but it still stirred something in him.

"You seem to be in good spirits," he commented, his tone even, though a quiet warmth had begun to rise in his eyes.

Ilaria swayed a little like she would melt soon, her hands clasped behind her back. "Well, you came back," she cooed, letting that simple fact bear the weight of all her joy.

His gaze lingered at the way the light sparked in her eyes, and the smile that reached all the way to her soul. He did not know having someone smile at him like that would make him want to look for a distraction.

Because for a brief, unguarded moment, he allowed himself to forget the burden he had carried from the courtyard earlier. But duty returned like a cold tether.

Levan’s voice loosened, but it remained controlled as he said, "I need to tell you something." He rounded ths space and took a seat on the large windowsill, drawing the light behind him.

Ilaria’s smile thinned, her countenance frowning in slight worry as she slowly followed his movement. "Something... bad?"

"Not exactly," he said, arms crossed as he watched her intently. "Your chamber has been sealed by the priest temporarily, so you cannot return there."

Ilaria blinked, startled at the unexpected announcement, making her wonder if something happened again. "Sealed? Why?"

"Because residual corruption was found near the northern wing," he explained carefully. "The wards have weakened. And the priest deem it unsafe until the renewal is complete, so it’s best that you stay away from there."

She tilted her head, processing the weight of the words. "So... my chamber is gone?"

"Not gone," he corrected. "Just—" He halted, searching for a gentler word. "Held. Until the rites are finished."

"Oh." She looked down, her fingers worrying the fine edge of her sleeve. For some reason, it did not devastate her as much as she thought it would. Lifting her gaze, she asked, "Then... will I be reassigned somewhere else?"

Levan had not thought much of the question at first. But then he noticed the way she shifted, the slight fidget in her hands, the hesitant lift of her eyes before she looked away again. Something about it was not just curiosity.

The silence stretched, charged now with something unexpectedly delicate.

When he finally spoke, his voice softened, dipping into something quieter and more personal as he tried to indulge in her thoughts. "Do you want to be?"

Her brows went high, startled. "Huh?"

"Reassigned," he repeated, watching her more closely now. "Do you want a new chamber?"

A tingling sensation rushed down her spine. "I— um..." She ducked her head, then confessed, the words almost swallowed. "If I could choose... maybe somewhere closer to yours?"

Ah...

That stopped him completely.

For a man who had faced council wars and sleepless nights without flinching, it was ridiculous how one shy sentence from her could unravel him like this. The notion was absurd, and yet warmth spread through his chest all the same, stubborn and unshakable.

Closer to his chamber? He almost laughed at himself. He did not, of course, but the smile that came tugging at his mouth was so helpless and genuine that it made Ilaria’s heart flutter. He could already imagine the possible reasons behind her request.

Flustered at his reaction, Ilaria rushed to fill the resulting space. "N-not too close! Just... close enough that the halls aren’t so quiet at night. I don’t like the dark, and if I could visit sometimes—"

"Ilaria."

She froze. He was not angry; in fact, the air around him had become unnervingly soothing. His voice was low and steady, but the look in his eyes made her heart skip a beat. It was not the old coldness. It was a deep, gentle current that threatened to pull her under.

Levan let out a breath then, a faint, almost imperceptible surrender. Closer to mine. The words landed inside him, heavy and unexpected. He was the prince; he should be impermeable. Yet the thought of seeing her wandering near his hallway everyday made him intrigued.

He did not look away, just simply broke the intensity. "I’ll see it done," he nodded at her. "But for now, you’ll stay here. Can you do that?"

Her face ignited instantly. Her eyes were wide in anticipation as if he had just offered her the moon. "Here? W-with you?" She asked eagerly.

His jaw tightened in an effort to maintain composure and resist the pull of a smile. Her reaction was so priceless that he found it almost painfully tender, that kind of innocence she did not even realize she carried.

"...For now," he conceded.

Ilaria bloomed. "Yes! I can!" She exclaimed before she could hold herself back, bouncing lightly on her toes.

The words burst from her with such heedless joy that it caught him entirely off guard. Levan blinked, a breath of quiet laughter slipping through his chest before he could stop it. She really meant it, huh? That small, earnest spark in her eyes had been real.

He only looked at her for a while, letting that warmth settle somewhere deep and unfamiliar. Then, almost without thinking, he extended a hand toward her like an invitation.

"Have you eaten yet?" he asked, voice softer now. "It’s already past midday."

Ilaria’s heart stuttered, startled by the domesticity of the question. It was so ordinary, yet so achingly intimate. She took a few silent steps and reached for his hand with both of hers, hesitant at first but unable to resist the quiet gravity between them.

"Ah— no, not yet. I wasn’t really hungry," she admitted with a shy shake of her head, her voice small with the effort of containing her joy when their hands finally touched. As always, his hand was warm.

His gaze flicked toward her, and though his expression remained composed, there was something faintly exasperated and fond in it. Slowly, he drew her closer until she stood between his knees where he sat; his other hand came up to cradle both of her hands.

The touch was unthinking, almost casual, but it was enough to sent her pulse reeling.

"You should have something light at least," he murmured, studying her face. "You don’t look well-rested either."

"I-I’m fine," she tried to insist, but her voice wavered like a girl caught staring by her crush as she unknowingly swayed their hands a little. "Truly."

Levan did not press then. Instead, his gaze drifted toward his own bed, then back to her. As she looked at him from this proximity, she could see a flicker of hesitation before something thoughtful settled in his eyes. "If you’re tired, just rest there."

And for a moment, with his hand still holding hers and his voice that soft, it felt less like an order and more like a promise, one that made her heart ache in the sweetest way.

Her breath hitched, still unsure as she looked back at the bed, then to him. "Y-your bed? Are you sure?" She asked, her grip in his hands tightening slightly.

He gave a small, almost formal nod, his tone composed. "You are staying in my chamber until the priest was sure that the ward is sealed anyway, might as well get comfortable."

Ilaria’s fingers twitched in his, her heart thudding a grateful tattoo. "O-oh. I see... Then— um— I... I’ll try not to be a burden to you."

"Don’t worry about it, you’ll manage," he said simply, looking down at their hands before he shifted his palm up to hold hers properly. The small, deliberate movement filled the space between them, grounding the profound quiet.

Ilaria did not know what had just happened, only that something had shifted. Whatever it was. That look in his eyes, the brush of his hand, the softness in his voice — she liked it.

Saints help her, she liked it far too much, and she feared she would never learned how to stop.